


The Storm

by Crowlows19



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 13:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21356917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowlows19/pseuds/Crowlows19
Summary: It's the blizzard of the century and even Batman is snowed in, which seems like a perfect time for Dick Grayson to ask Bruce Wayne a very pointed question about his new Robin. Featuring small cameos from the Justice League.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 619





	The Storm

Bruce had a generator system that consisted of several high-powered generators and many fail-safes to keep them from being blown. This system could run everything he needed for weeks if need be. He had assumed that if it went beyond those several weeks, Gotham City would basically be an apocalypse zone and they would be focused on evacuating, not restoration. Thus, the system was also a countdown. It would tell him when the situation was now so bad it was time to leave. 

He had plans to take the entire city with him, of course. He even knew where he would take all those refugees; which neighboring cities had the resources to help; which neighboring states had Governors who would turn their noses up at those Crime Alley left-behinds. 

What nobody had realized, except Bruce, was that the generator system did not power the house. It was only wired into the cave systems. So when Gotham City was hit with twenty-six inches of snow, blowing the power lines and plunging half the city into darkness, Dick had been wholly surprised to learn that they also had no power. The cave itself was impossible to heat. There were a few space heaters that Bruce would barely let them use and had been broken for several months anyway.

Otherwise, you were in your armor which was usually enough to fight off any kind of chill. Or, you simply toughed it out. Regardless, they were currently without heat and they couldn’t even leave. Not even their toughest vehicle could make it out onto the roads and there was very little chance of landing the plane safely. 

In response, Bruce had actually done the unthinkable. 

He’d called Clark and was directing him remotely on how to help get the power back on. The whole city was in a standstill; people couldn’t evacuate their unheated homes and emergency services couldn’t get their vehicles out. The hospitals were on borrowed time with their generators and if Arkham’s generator system failed, the entire security system would be manual. It might be enough to keep the inmates in but it wasn’t a risk anyone actually wanted to take. 

Clark, in turn, had brought in other Justice League members. Anybody who could fly and also withstand the cold. Flash, who could run on top of the snow, also answered the call. Dick was directing Flash, Green Lantern, and Martian Manhunter on emergency services operations, getting people to heat, answering a domestic violence call, and directing Martian Manhunter on where to take the poor woman who had gone into labor and needed a hospital. 

Wonder Woman and Hawkgirl were being directed by Barbara who was also snowed in but who’s building still had power. She was being backed up by Alfred who had been out in the city when the storm had turned nasty and hadn’t been able to make it back. He’d abandoned the car several blocks from her apartment and walked the rest of the way. Hawkgirl was backing up security at Arkham and Wonder Woman was at Blackgate. 

So far, everything seemed alright. 

Until Hal was tapped on the arm by a twelve-year-old boy bundled up against the cold and with a camera around his neck, politely asking for a ride. When he had asked the boy who he belonged to, the kid had simply cocked his head as if he didn’t understand the question. Hal had rephrased and asked him where he wanted to go. He had been shocked by the answer. 

“Hey, I got a kid here, says he needs to be dropped off at Wayne Manor,” Hal said suddenly over his comm line. Dick whipped around to look at Bruce with a look on his face that was part amusement, part confusion. They were in the cave, in coats and hats, and Dick had brought down the blanket from his bed. It was about as comfortable as it was going to get. 

“Who is it?” Bruce asked, knowing full well who it probably was but wanting to confirm nonetheless. There was some indistinguishable muttering as Hal held a brief conversation with the unidentified kid. According to Hal’s tracker, he was at the Gotham City Art Museum. 

“Says his name is Tim,” Hal responded. “Apparently, he’s the neighbor kid?”

The last part sounded like a question as if Bruce Wayne having neighbors was a novel concept. Considering the size of the Manor grounds it probably was. Hal was used to hearing his neighbor’s TV at strange hours of the night; you couldn’t even see Bruce’s neighbors. Not even with binoculars or military-grade equipment; he’d checked. 

“Isn’t he supposed to be in Paris with his parents?” Dick asked quietly, covering the microphone of his headset so his voice wouldn’t carry over the open line. Bruce nodded. 

“Bring him to the cave,” Bruce ordered.

“The cave...or the house?” Hal asked slowly as if he was trying to give Bruce an out on the clear mistake he’d just made. 

“Did I stutter?” Bruce shot back, offended by the implication. “Bring him to the cave.”

“Why the cave?” Clark chimed in from his patrol of Crime Alley. “Who is Tim?”

“Isn’t that the kid that shot Green Arrow with a potato gun?” Barry asked, running around the financial district. 

“Some kid shot Green Arrow with a potato gun?” Hal asked. “Why?”

“Don’t know,” Barry said. “All he said was that it hurt really bad. He had the bruises for a month.”

“I heard about that!” Hawkgirl exclaimed, the sounds of the Arkham security force in the background. It sounded like they were having a party.

“As did I,” J’onn agreed. 

“What is a potato gun?” Diana asked, sirens almost covering her voice. There was a riot at Blackgate; nothing she couldn’t handle. 

Dick was trying very hard not to laugh, his face turning red from the exertion. 

“Are you bringing him or not?” Bruce snapped, cutting off the chatter. 

“We’re on our way,” Hal said. “Hang tight, kid!”

00000

Tim looked like a neon marshmallow, in Dick’s opinion. He was in a coat, ski pants, gloves, a hat, and what looked to be three hoodies, all of which were in various bright colors. The only things that were black were his snow boots and the camera around his neck. Hal set him down on the cave floor gently, directly in front of Bruce who was standing with his arms crossed, looking annoyed. He had just spent the last fifteen minutes trying to get the team to focus on their relief efforts, not on Tim and who he was. 

“You’re supposed to be with your parents,” Bruce said, as Hal dropped down into Bruce’s abandoned chair, plainly exhausted. He looked as amused as Dick felt. Dick genuinely enjoyed watching Bruce with Tim. He literally just ran around, trying to keep up. Tim had that effect; his go-to move was to suddenly show up with a piece of information you weren’t expecting and a perfectly formed plan he wanted you to go along with. It was jarring.

“I wanted to see the photography exhibit at the museum,” Tim said. “I’ve been waiting two years for it to get to Gotham.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing him which Dick thought was curious. They all knew Tim liked photography; the story sounded plausible to him. He heard a chime on the laptop he was using and looked to see an IM from Barbara on their secure server. 

BG: He doesn’t believe the new kid does he?

DG: No, do you know why?

BG: Kid’s totally lying.

DG: How can you tell?

BG: Because you know Bruce would have known about that exhibit if T actually wanted to go to it.

Barbara was right, of course. Tim was the type to babble about the things he was excited about, no matter who his audience was or how bored they seemed. This thought in mind, Dick tuned back into the conversation between Bruce and Tim. 

“Let me see the camera,” Bruce was saying, holding out his hand. Tim handed it over, looking unconcerned, and then sauntered over to where Dick was sitting and digging his hand into the giant bag of pretzels he had brought down from the kitchen. Tim stuffed a handful into his mouth and started taking his jacket off, clearly overheating in the relative warmth of the cave. It was cold, but still a good twenty degrees warmer than what Tim had endured outside. Dick reached out to help when the kid couldn’t get his arm out. 

Bruce meanwhile, was flipping through the pictures on the camera and Hal looked like he was fighting off sleep. 

“Are you allowed to take photos of the photos?” Dick asked, tossing Tim’s gloves, coat, and two of his hoodies to the side. “I feel like you can’t take photos of the photos.”

“Stop saying photos,” Tim said, scowling. Dick grinned at him, he just looked so young. Tim hadn’t yet perfected his scowl and all it did was make his nose crinkle up. 

“You could take photos if you went inside,” Bruce said, eyeing Tim critically. “You’re casing the museum. Why?”

“Gonna rob it, Timmy?” Dick joked. “Did Bruce finally annoy you into a life of crime?”

BG: Lol. 

“No,” Tim replied, eating more pretzels. 

“What did I tell you about working unauthorized cases?” Bruce asked. Dick knew that lecture by heart. He used to get it all the time when he was Robin and he had heard Bruce give it to Jason once or twice. 

“It’s not a case,” Tim protested around the pretzels in his mouth. “It's a hobby.”

“You have a hobby?” Dick asked, actually surprised. “I thought superhero spying was your hobby.”

“Say what now?” Hal piped up, joining the conversation for the first time. 

“No, a different hobby,” Tim said, still inhaling the pretzels. Dick wondered when he’d eaten last. 

“That’s hardly a hobby,” Bruce said, clearly in the know, and not having it. 

“How would you know what a hobby is?” Tim shot back, defensive. Hal laughed quietly.

AP: Yes, how would he know? 

Dick almost snorted with laughter at Alfred’s contribution to the chat. 

“Running around Gotham trying to solve unsolved murders you heard about on a podcast is not a hobby, Tim,” Bruce replied. 

“Oh my god,” Dick said under his breath, a little concerned. Of course Tim would think that was a valid hobby and of course Bruce disagreed. He also disagreed but he also wanted to side with Tim out of principal. The kid just made it so hard sometimes. 

“It is too,” Tim snapped, his voice pitching up a little bit. He had clearly just barely started puberty. The kid balled his fists and Dick was surprised that he didn’t stomp his foot too. He looked like he really wanted to. 

“I told you to knock it off,” Bruce replied, ignoring Tim’s slight outburst. “You’re going to get yourself in a bad situation.”

“I don’t talk to anyone,” Tim replied. “It’s not like I’m wandering into people’s homes looking for evidence or anything. I’m just reviewing the cases.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Dick said and Bruce glared at him. “What? What’s actually so bad about taking photos of the museum? Hundreds of tourists do it every day.”

“I told you no,” Bruce reiterated, even pointing a finger at Tim to make his point. Tim rolled his eyes as Bruce moved back towards his chair. “Get out of my chair, Lantern. Don’t you have a job to do?”

Hal grunted, stood, and took off in the air. He was back in Gotham within minutes just as Bruce finished moving Tim’s photos to the server and deleting them off of the boy’s camera. Dick knew that meant Bruce had seen something of value in them after all but didn’t want the kid to have them. 

DG: What’s in the photos?

BG: No idea, he put them in his private file. 

“You hungry, Tim?” Dick asked, watching the kid stuff another handful of pretzels in his mouth. “Let’s get something to eat. You got this?”

“Yeah,” Bruce replied. “Bring me some coffee when you come back.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Dick joked and led Tim upstairs to the kitchen. 

00000

Tim ate three peanut butter sandwiches, a handful of carrots, a glass of milk, and the last of the pretzel bag while Dick packed a box of things they could eat in the cave. He also unplugged the coffee maker and the microwave packing them beside the cereal and cans of vegetables. He’d pulled it all out of Alfred’s emergency pantry that housed the food that wasn’t meant to be cooked but held back for moments like these. 

While he worked he listened to Tim talk about a cold case about a couple who’d been murdered on the steps of the museum in 1923. It was one of Gotham City’s most popular cold cases only beat out by the cold case from five years ago about a teenage girl who had turned the corner six steps ahead of her friends and disappeared. He wondered if Tim also had photos of the corner of 6th Avenue and Wayne Memorial Boulevard. 

Tim had wanted to see the steps for himself, working through a theory that he had regarding the timing of the murder. His theory would actually place the victims on the steps a half-hour after the police’s official timeline, making the security guard the prime suspect. Thanks to Gotham’s perpetual need to keep its buildings exactly as they were built, the crime scene basically looked like it did back in 1923. The only real difference was the electronic signs and bus stops.

“How many cases have you solved?” Dick asked, internally debating if he wanted to bring the Goldfish down. Bruce, unknown to everyone but Dick, really liked them and would disappear with the whole bag whenever he learned they were in the house. Alfred had always thought it was one of the boys doing that. He tossed them in the box.

“Sixteen,” Tim said around the last bite of his sandwich. 

“And what do you do with all that information?”

“I put it in an envelope and send it to the police anonymously,” he said. Dick paused and eyed Tim critically. 

“Were you the one that sent in the tip about the 1989 Hartwell Bar Massacre in Bludhaven?” he asked. 

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

“I heard about it through the grapevine. That was a big deal you know,” Dick told him. That tip had solved the case and gotten five high-level gangsters off the street. Nobody could ever figure out who it was that sent in the tip. 

“That one was hard,” Tim admitted. “But you can see it in the bank statements.”

“Hmmm,” Dick replied, noncommittally. He felt a little ridiculous being that surprised that Tim had that level of skill. He shouldn’t have been, considering. “You done? Let’s get back to the cave before Bruce goes into coffee withdrawal.”

Tim smiled, rinsed off his plate, and they left the cold, dark house for the cave below.

00000

While Bruce and Dick continued to direct the League on their efforts, Tim managed to find and drag a camping tent onto the platform behind them, pitching it and disappearing inside with a laptop he'd grabbed from Bruce's desk upstairs. Bruce ignored it entirely but Dick couldn't help himself.

He abandoned his chair and headset during a lull and unzipped the tent, climbing in, and closing it behind him. Tim had set up blankets, pillows, and a couple lanterns. It was quite nice. 

Dick gladly snuggled down into the nearest down comforter, stuffing a pillow under his head. 

"What are you up to?" he asked. 

"Building a computer," Tim replied showing him the screen. He was purchasing computer parts. Dick was overly curious about why the shipping address was to the Manor. 

"Why not ship this stuff to your house?" he asked. 

"Bruce makes me stay here when my parents aren't home."

"Ah," Dick responded, not in the least surprised. He wondered if Jack and Janet knew that Tim was spending enough time at the neighbor's house that he was actually having boxes shipped there.

Dick caught a quick nap while Tim continued building his computer, finally comfortable and warm enough to drop into sleep. He only woke up when he heard people landing on the platform outside the tent. He listened intently, wanting to hear everything but not enough to actually go outside and participate in the conversation. 

"I'm in calorie deficit," Barry said. Tim continued to type. 

"One second," Bruce said and Dick heard him rummaging around. "Try this."

"This looks disgusting. What is it?"

"Something we made at Wayne Enterprises," Bruce told him. "It's an extremely calorie dense bar. Just try it."

Dick had seen those bars. Barry was either extremely hungry or far braver than anyone gave him credit for. 

"It tastes like cardboard," Barry mumbled. "Thanks."

"Hal, there's food in that box and more tents if we need them," Bruce continued.

"I just need to crash for a second," Hal said. "I came straight here from a mission."

Hal soon passed out on the couch they had down there while Barry, no longer in a calorie deficit, managed to run home. With only Tim's typing and Bruce's low voice audible in the cave, Dick was soon passed out in a deep sleep.

00000

When he woke up the next morning, it was to Hal's snores on the couch and Tim's knee in his back. He gently extracted himself from the tent, trying to avoid waking anyone. When he looked up, he found Bruce where he'd left him pouring through what Dick guessed were the photos from Tim's camera.

"Anything good?" he whispered, stretching his back. 

"Hmmm," Bruce replied. Dick knew that noise. It was how Bruce said that he'd found something good but he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at. 

"That interesting, huh?"

"I think he solved this," Bruce said. 

"Great," Dick said sarcastically. "Feel like arresting a ninety year old man?"

"He actually died a few years after the murders," Bruce told him, reaching for the bag of Goldfish he had sitting on the desk. "That's why the case went cold."

"Well, I guess I'll give him a you-did-it cupcake when we get out of this stupid snow storm," Dick said, clapping Bruce on the shoulder. Bruce huffed in displeasure.

"Don't encourage him," he ordered. 

"He's not doing anything dangerous," Dick said. 

"You have no idea what he's doing," Bruce snapped at him and though the tone was harsher than Dick would have liked, he did have to admit Bruce was right about that. He wasn't actually in Gotham very frequently. He had no idea what kind of shenanigans Tim got up to in his day to day life. 

"If you don't want him doing this stuff, I won't encourage it," he said. He would always side with other Robins over Batman; that was just how he was. But he never went against Bruce on orders regarding safety. He wasn't cruel. He didn't want anyone dead.

"Thank you," Bruce said. He was still staring at the photo in front of him. A shot of the front steps, buried deep in the snow, Green Lantern just visible at the edge. This must have been taken right before he'd asked Hal for a ride. Dick smirked at the thought; the kid had nerve.

Dick eyed Bruce carefully, wondering if should even voice the thought in his mind. There was no way it hadn't crossed his mind. The question was if he'd ignored it or not.

"Have you given any thought to what this kid will be like when he's fully trained? You can barely keep up with him now. How dangerous will he be?"

Bruce stood abruptly; Dick had clearly hit a nerve.

"I've given it a lot of thought actually," Bruce told him.

"And?"

"And I believe he'll be more dangerous than any of us," he said, completely stoic as if it wasn't something that actually sent chills down Dick's spine. "Monitor the comms for me. Superman is still wandering around the city pulling stray cats out of snow banks."

He handed Dick his headset, went over to the tent and crawled in beside Tim, moving some wayward limbs to make room for his bulk. Tim mumbled and shifted but didn't wake up. 

Dick sat through the tail end of that storm by himself with only the bats for company and the sounds of Hal Jordan's incessant snoring.


End file.
